


forget me not

by miidniight



Series: signed by one mr. innit and one mr. soot [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Past Character Death, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur's A++ Parenting Skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miidniight/pseuds/miidniight
Summary: “Sometimes when you see yourself as the hero, you forget the ones that got hurt to get you there.”---Or, Fundy is used to being forgotten.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: signed by one mr. innit and one mr. soot [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113617
Comments: 18
Kudos: 185





	forget me not

**Author's Note:**

> hiya!! this is a part of my series based around [formally, and hoping you burn in hell, wilbur soot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705392), but it isn't necessary to have read that fic to read this one. it might make a bit more sense in some parts tho.
> 
> enjoy :)!!

The sun was high in the sky over the L’Manburg crater when Quackity walked up to the edge, looked down, and announced, “Wilbur is gone.”

Fundy looked up from where he was mining iron ore, shielding one dusty hand over his eyes to block the glare while the other tightened its grip on his pickaxe. Once, he and Quackity had been allies, friends, even, but those days had passed and he wasn’t sure where either of them stood. “Okay. And?”

There was a pause as Quackity stared at him in obvious confusion. “You’re not… upset?”

“Why would I care where a ghost goes? He roams as he wants anyway.”

Quackity’s sharp breath had Fundy freezing, his heartbeat stuttering a step and missing a beat before it caught itself and began again, its tempo much faster than it had been moments prior. When Quackity said gone, he didn’t mean… no. To take a line from Tubbo:

_Surely not._

Fundy had spent more time than was probably healthy trying to convince himself that Wilbur—human, ghost, or whatever form he may take—meant nothing to him. He was just another person Fundy happened to be related to that didn’t give two shits about him, and that the feeling was mutual. But some small part that he kept carefully buried, the six-year old that stole and slept in his father’s jacket to protect himself from monsters at night, cried out at the thought that Wilbur was well and truly gone.

There would be no more faded yellow sweaters disappearing around corners or piles of blue being dumped in Fundy’s hands against his will. There would be no more naive and innocent attempts at fixing a relationship that was far past broken. There would be no more echoey giggles or cold hands brushing against his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” Quackity said, so quiet that Fundy had to strain to hear him, “No one ever told you.”

Inhaling around the knot in his chest, Fundy called up, “Told me what?”

“Wilbur came back to life.”

The tool in Fundy’s hand clattered against the rock ledge beneath his feet, slipping from his grasp as his fingers went slack. His raised hand fell to his side, the leer of the sun forgotten as he stared up at Quackity in shock. For a moment, he simply swayed where he stood, knees going weak and head swimming with confusion.

Wilbur had come back to life?

Wilbur—flesh and blood, alive and breathing Wilbur—was walking (walking around on his own two feet instead of hovering two inches above the ground) around the SMP?

For a moment Fundy simply swayed.

For a moment he forgot.

(Fundy forgot that he had indirectly contributed to L’Manburg’s demise. Fundy forgot that he was standing in the hollow remains of what used to be his home. Fundy forgot that his father left him and used him and never truly loved him in a way that mattered.)

“Where is he?” Fundy’s question was near breathless, floating over to Quackity’s ears as it rode on the cold wind that had suddenly blown through. “Where’s my dad?”

Quackity’s expression caved, collapsing under the weight of a sadness that shot a poison tipped arrow through Fundy’s chest and lodged itself in his sternum. He shook his head slowly, something regretful making his words hurt infinitesimally more. “Fundy… he’s gone. He took Tommy and left.”

That was when Fundy remembered.

“No, but,” Fundy began slowly, his words dragged out, delaying the inevitable epiphany that was already crashing over his head in a tsunami of old hurt and a voice that whispered, _You should have known_. “But, I didn’t… he didn’t even…”

“There was a letter, but—”

“Where is it? Do you have it? Can I see it?” Fundy’s desperation was its own entity. It stood over his shoulder and clawed at the air, begging and pleading for any scrap or morsel that for once in Fundy’s goddamn life, his father had spared him even the smallest of thoughts.

“No, Ranboo took it to show Techno and Phil since he’s the only one that they let over there.” There was a bitter edge to Quackity’s voice that told Fundy what had happened with the Butcher Army (as if it mattered, as if it had ever really truly mattered in the grand scheme of things) had not been forgotten. Quackity simply held it inside, deep in his chest, in the same little pit where the pain filled fury Fundy had been letting fester for years sat.

Something hot and acidic bubbled in Fundy’s lungs. A venomous, animalistic shriek ripped free from his mouth as he whirled and kicked all the ore he had collected over the edge of the little platform he stood on, not even waiting to hear it fall to the bottom before he was bending down to grab his pickaxe and whip it to the bottom as well. In his peripheral, he saw Quackity back away a few steps from where he had been standing over Fundy, something akin to fear making his body tense. Clawed fingers went up into Fundy’s coppery hair, threatening to tear the strands from his scalp as he wordlessly screamed into the abyss beneath him.

“Let me guess,” Fundy boomed, keeping his back to Quackity to hide the water that was beginning to fill his eyes, “He didn’t even fucking mention me, did he? Because why would he ever think of his son, his little champion, his precious _fucking_ blood born son when he has to be the hero for Tommy. Tommy the child, Tommy his brother. Tommy the traumatized, ever favorite little _prick_. What about me?” He turned, one hand violently hitting himself in the chest in a gesture that had Quackity’s eyes widening. The tears that had been building finally spilled as he bellowed, voice cracking, “ _I’m_ a kid! What about me?”

Chest heaving, Fundy stood in silence for a handful of seconds before he wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, “Q, he didn’t even say hello.”

Quackity slid carefully down the shallow incline of the wall in front of Fundy, sending rocks scattering downwards. He approached the crying teenager slowly and silently, as if afraid he was going to lash out again. Fundy said nothing as arms wrapped in blue cloth gently pulled him into a warm embrace and tugged his head to rest on a slightly bony shoulder.

“Sometimes when you see yourself as the hero, you forget the ones that got hurt to get you there.”

Fundy closed his eyes at Quackity’s sentence.

After all, being forgotten was nothing new.


End file.
